autumn days
by fallen-chan
Summary: of rebellion, coffee shops, and all that comes in-between


**Title:** autumn days

**Summary:** of rebellion, coffee shops, and all that comes in-between

**A/N:** the inspiration necessary for finishing this has been sadly lacking the last 2+ months. may or may not be finished.

* * *

Uchiha Itachi is seventeen, fresh out of high school with the world at his fingertips, when he walks into a ascetic office on the ninth floor of a steel-and-glass building. He leaves three hours later to the melody of angry shouting and hushed whispers, back straight with his hands by his side. He walks out the door with countless sets of uniformed eyes on his back and never looks back.

The surname "Uchiha" disappears overnight.

In Tokyo, Uchiha Shisui walks into a steel-and-glass building and waits for the elevator, listening to the newest gossip about an "Itachi, the boss's oldest son" who, most of the men agree, "lost his mind and got himself disowned." The elevator arrives with a '_ding_' and he steps into it; the last thing he hears before the doors slide shut is "kid let all the attention get to his head, yeah."

Itachi steps off a plane into the airport at Osaka. He takes a taxi to the local courthouse, turns in a single form, and walks to the closest hotel. When a notice arrives informing him that his application has been processed and approved, Heiwa Itachi smiles thinly and idly wonders if the underlying irony in his new surname will ever be fully appreciated.

In Tokyo, Uchiha Fukagu sneezes, spilling coffee over the report on his desk. His curses startle the twin bodyguards standing outside the door; they burst in with guns drawn and are promptly thrown back out.

There is a small cafe tucked away a quiet corner of Kyoto. He finds the place one night in February, the high of a successful job just starting to wear off, and ducks into it with an easy grin on his lips. He orders a coffee - Jamaican Blue Mountain with cream and sugar - and looks around before sliding into an open booth, across from a man pouring over a thick textbook, wire-frame glasses resting low on his nose. "Mind if I sit here?"

The man looks up and Shisui places him as a university student, twenty-one at most. "If I say 'no' will you simply stand?" His voice is dry, soft over the strains of music playing; Shisui glances around at the filled tables and booths before offering a crooked smile. Long fingers brush aside a stack of papers, clearing room for him at the narrow coffee-stained table before he even opens his mouth to answer. "I didn't think so."

His coffee is delivered in a white mug, accompanied by a saucer with chipped edges and a dull spoon, a stick of biscotti balanced precariously close to the edge. Shisui flashes an easy grin at the woman who brings his drink and waits until she is gone before discretely lifting the drink to his lips, smelling for poison before taking a tiny sip. "Hey, it's hot" he defends - needlessly - when he glances across the table and sees dark eyes watching him over the rim of another white mug. The man makes a noncommittal sound and sips his coffee again. Shisui gets the feeling that the man is humouring him; it's a pleasant surprise after days of "but Uchiha-san, think of the - oh, of course! Whatever you think best, Uchiha-san!" (There are times when he wishes that his reputation did not precede him; subservience he can handle, but only in small dosages.)

They settle into a comfortable silence, interrupted by the occasional burst of conversation - "pass me a napkin please? thank you" - until he finishes his coffee, setting the mug down with a quiet clink that prompts the man across from him to look up, setting aside a pen. Shisui lets a familiar grin fall onto his lips, running a hand through tousled hair as he stands. "Shisui" he throws over his shoulder, a flash of bone-white teeth slipping into his smile before he leaves the cafe.

Itachi's hand hovers above his pen for a moment before he picks it up; his letters are less than perfect for the first time in many years. The name 'Shisui" is familiar to him - but no, he thinks to himself as he writes, even an uncommon name must be repeated at least once in such a large country.

One week later, Itachi walks into a small cafe tucked away in a quiet corner of Kyoto. He orders a drink and shifts the weight of the backpack slung over a shoulder, casting an eye about in search of an empty table. A man with an easy grin and curly hair waves him over, a flash of white teeth in his smile. "Come here often ...?"

Itachi hesitates, eyes flicking from the man to the black jacket thrown messily over the back of the chair. "Itachi" he offers. (_There is no red-and-white fan._) His paranoia drops back down to familiar levels; Heiwa Itachi dismisses the residual unease gnawing at the edges of his mind as a manifestation of that paranoia.

Far away, Uchiha Fugaku can not suppress the shiver that runs down his spine; he snaps for someone to turn the heat up.

In Kyoto, Uchiha Shisui holds his hand out, halfway across the narrow table. "Nice to meet you, Itachi-san."

They establish a familiar (comfortable) routine over the months, chance meetings in a small cafe in a quiet corner of Kyoto so regular that one would think they could only be organized (but they are purely coincidental, Itachi thinks). Snippets of conversations paint the gradual shift from perfect strangers until Itachi walks into the cafe one day and a hand closes around his arm, large and warm. "I ordered for you" the man says, mirth in black eyes. "Hope you don't mind, Itachi."

There is a certain familiarity in Shisui's easy smile; Itachi thinks to himself, much later, that it should have set him on edge. Instead, he maneuvers them both from the doorway and offers a tiny smile. "Thanks." His backpack rests heavy on his shoulders as he follows Shisui to a booth tucked against the wall, two steaming cups of coffee on the table and a black suit jacket in a messy heap in the corner. He tugs his arm free as it is released and shrugs his jacket off with his backpack; it hits the ground with a dull 'thud' and the man sitting across from him offers a half-smile, more sympathetic than commiserating. Itachi hesitates before lifting his cup - "midterms" he explains without reason - and Shisui reaches across the table, hand barely brushing against his hair before it pats his arm.

"Studying hard?" A nod and the conversation falls into a familiar silence, one man on his phone and the other pouring over a thin notebook, notes covering the pages in tiny orderly rows. Somewhere between Nietzsche and Machiavelli, a tinny ring-tone, particularly obnoxious in the silence, begins to play. When Itachi looks up, Shisui's face is shuttered, characteristic easy grace absent as he answers the call.

He does his best to ignore the brusque one-sided conversation. It works, to a degree, until Shisui hangs up and reaches across the table to touch his hand. "I have to go" the man tells him, uncharacteristically terse. There are lines of tension written on his face, for all that a smile plasters itself to his lips. "I'll see you around?"

"... sure." Itachi sets his pen down, notes blurring before tired eyes, and offers a crooked smile. "I'm not the best of company" he begins, only to be cut off.

"Nah, nothing wrong with studying." This time, the smile reaches black eyes; Shisui shrugs his coat on and the set of his shoulders begins to scream tension. "I know what it's like in uni."

Itachi watches him leave, weaving through the line of people, before taking out his glasses and returning to his notes. The next day, he opens the paper and the headlines radiate sensationalism, rumours of a serial killer targeting businessmen ("FIFTH MURDER OF THE YEAR! HIMURA DANZO FOUND DEAD IN OFFICE!") all over the front page.

In Tokyo, a man with an angular face, black eyes cold, picks up the phone and smiles thinly.

Halfway between Kyoto and Osaka, Uchiha Shisui gives a short report over the phone and hangs up.

The next time Itachi walks into a small cafe in a quiet corner of Kyoto, the cashier hesitates after taking his order, pressing a folded piece of paper into his hand after asking for his full name. "From your friend" she explains before shooing him away from the counter. He reads the note once, twice, before refolding it and tucking it into a pocket.


End file.
